


And living land was left behind

by Lilliburlero



Category: English and Scottish Popular Ballads - Francis James Child, Thomas the Rhymer (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Ficlet, Genderbending, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/pseuds/Lilliburlero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a True Tammas in every age.</p><p>To tree_and_leaf's <a href="http://lilliburlero.dreamwidth.org/60632.html?thread=85720#cmt85720">prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And living land was left behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tree_and_leaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree_and_leaf/gifts).



Tamsin Learmount is sitting on a picnic rug in the garden of a north London terrace. The interviewer asks, ‘What are your politics?’

She’s been brought up to tell the truth. 

‘Revolutionary,’ she replies.

The papers like pictures of pretty, rebellious girls. She and and the other female defendant, Janet Lynn, have a set of photos taken. A friend from the group manages the copyright. Every time the _Sun_ and the _Mail_ and the _Mirror_ —not to mention the broadsheets—leeringly print them the fee goes towards their defence fund. When her case is on the news there's always an insinuating allusion to her grammar school education. Often they mention that she was head girl, too. They never say that her mam and dad are market traders, rattling round the county in their decade-old Transit every Wednesday and Saturday. 

She is convicted of conspiracy to cause explosions and sentenced to ten years. They say with time off for good behaviour and the time she’s spent on remand she will be out in seven at most. After her conviction they transfer her to another wing. She’s supposed to be in solitary but they haven’t got enough space. The lights hurt her eyes. She sits on her bunk, makes fists, and presses them into her eye-sockets.

At 6 p.m. her cellmate returns from the workshop, where they make disposable knickers from even sheets of soft, cheap hospital-green paper. She will get to know its texture well, brushed and velvety yet rough, and so, so easily torn. Tamsin looks up and sees the Blessed Virgin: of Montserrat, of Rocamadour, of Guadalupe.

She says, ‘Surely you are the Queen of Heaven.’

Our Lady’s eyes widen and she drops her chin into her neck, multiplying it by three. ‘You mad?’ she says. ‘Don’t answer that.’ She fishes a paper bag from the pocket of her boiler suit and holds it out. ‘Sweetie? Apple and custards.’

This is impossible largesse: sweets come either from outside or cost a week’s wages. They are never given for nothing. Tamsin takes one.

‘As a matter of fact, my name is Queenie. Called after my nan.’

‘Tamsin.’

‘Ha. Ni— _ice_. Bit of posh.’

Seven years. She will be out in seven years.

**Author's Note:**

> The alleged original of True Tammas, Thomas of Erceldoune, had the surname of Learmount or Learmonth.


End file.
